The Purple Rose of Cairo
by Liselle1
Summary: In which Jonathan accepts a large donation for the museum in exchange for rights to shoot part of a film there, and is stuck babysitting the film crew. Fluffy romance ensues!
1. In which Ella craves a nice, cool bath

Disclaimer – I own nothing, nobody, etc. Suing university students just isn't the way to run a big powerful movie studio, I'm pretty sure. 

A/N: Yes, it's a Jonathan story – he's fab-tastic, and never ever gets written about enough for me… (Len's and Jennifer Lee's stories being fab-tastic exceptions which I'm sure everyone has already read.) Trying to keep historical data reasonably accurate, based on my knowledge of film lore, but please tell me off if you note massive errors. 

***

Chapter One – In which Ella craves a nice, cool bath

The movie cameras each weighed about the same amount as the average 12-year-old child, and were at least twice as badly behaved. Ella Toland thanked her lucky stars that there were only two cameras, but she was beginning to wonder whether this whole "shooting on location" thing was as bad of an idea as everyone had tried to tell her it was. She was standing on the dockside harbour, in the uncomfortably bright sun she'd been getting used to on the long and nauseating cruise down from England, almost as long a voyage as their passage across the Atlantic beforehand. All in all, Ella really didn't care if she never saw a boat, or ship, or whichever it was, again. Her 33 years suddenly weighed on her keenly, and she felt tired. The air was full of excitement and potential stories, and she waited for them to infect her like they usually did. But at the moment all Ella's inner creativity wanted to do was take a long cool bath, and curl up in a quiet, shady room with linen sheets… mmmmmmm, linen. 

"Ella?" She turned to discover Vincent Saint-John, the only actor accompanying her small crew, looking pointedly at one of the cars-for-hire idling along the quay. "Do you think we might be able to make our way to that hotel now?" He was a striking-looking gentleman, a remnant of the Vaudeville circuit, now relegated to playing the standard moustache-twirling villains in second-string films, like the one she was shooting.

"Has all of the equipment been unloaded yet, Sam?" Ella directed her question to a bookish and very young man who was checking items off a minutely detailed list. 

"Let's see…" he murmured, adjusting his spectacles over the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I think that's all of it. Yes, it's all here." He reached over to pat one of the cases comfortingly. Ella grinned at the affection he showed for the machines, more than she'd ever seen him bestow on a living, breathing human. He'd learn soon enough… and she had the strangest feeling that it would be her assistant Dora who would be the one doing the instructing. 

"Walter, would you be able to manage…" she said to the cinematographer, gesturing tiredly toward the waiting automobiles. "The hotel is at 18 Rue Maroc." 

"It would be my pleasure, little lady." The older man smiled broadly, and proceeded to swiftly whisk a great deal more than half the equipment, himself and Saint-John (whom Ella was thoroughly sick of dealing with) into one of the motorcars. 

_Well, at least there's one person I can trust out of my sight for more than 3 minutes_, thought Ella with some relief. _How in God's name did I let my brother convince me into coming to Egypt for him?_

With some trepidation, she finished helping Sam load the second taxicab, and quickly slipped in beside the driver, leaving Sam and Dora to awkwardly find room (with the minimum possible physical contact, she noted with amusement) in the backseat. _Everything will be fine. The footage will be fantastic. You won't be stung by any scorpions, or spiders, or insects, and you'll be back in the backlots of damp old Hollywood before the next Astaire and Rogers picture hits the screens. After all, how much could go wrong?_

***

"So, they're going to be shooting _inside_ the museum?" cried Evie, trying to be angry, but leaning instead towards patiently exasperated. This inevitably ended up being her mindset when dealing with Jonathan. "With cameras? And actors? Disturbing all the _actual work_ going on?"

"It's just a second unit crew, old mum," explained her brother soothingly. "They shoot the occasional scene with dialogue, but mostly just cut-aways of Egyptian-y looking artifacts and deserts and pyramids and all that manner of things. They can't possibly be here for much longer than a week. Perhaps two. Or so." Jonathan's voice had the sound of someone who was repeating technical terms without knowing exactly what they meant. Evie, knowing him rather well, was far from being reassured. 

"Well, I suppose there's nothing to be done at this point, seeing as how they've probably already arrived," she sniffed.

"Besides," said Jonathan, with a sidelong glance at his sister. "The director, Joseph Toland already made that generous donation to your next dig… you know you'd have been in a tight spot without that extra cash." He smiled at her, at his most charming. 

"Yes, well," sighed Evie, giving up and breaking into a grin suspiciously like her brothers'. "I had no idea at the time that I was selling my soul to Hollywood. But before you go creeping back to that bar, Jonathan, I expect you to be in constant supervision of that film crew whenever they're in this museum. Do you hear me?"

Jonathan's half-lidded eyes widened in alarm – terrifying images of long afternoons far away from the cool comforts of his favourite watering-hole flitted through his brain, followed almost immediately by far more interesting images of attractive, pneumatic blonde actresses wearing clinging silk dresses. 

"Sister mine," he replied. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything less."

***

Okay, so it's Liselle's first posted fanfic, I know that feedback takes effort, but it's lovely, and I _promise_ to respond… more story soon, with any luck. Flames welcome, if I deserve them. Etc. Etc. 


	2. In which Jonathan has a hangover, again

Chapter 2 – In which Jonathan has a hangover, again

Ella whisked back the curtains with a dramatic flourish, beaming at the teeming masses below. The crowds were already in full form, hollering and hawking fake antiques and artefacts. She studied the street with interest, trying to frame up an imaginary shot. She'd have to remember to talk to Walter about the possibility. All remaining vestiges of her travelling fatigue seemed to be gone. _Gods, I'm actually feeling perky! Best enjoy it while it lasts,_ Ella thought.

Amazingly, not even breakfast downstairs with Dora was dampening Ella's good mood.

"...to which _I_ said that there was no way that _I_ was just going to _sit_ around and be called an _idiot_ by someone who never wore a tuxedo _in his life_." Dora's hair was gleaming and neatly styled, despite the poor quality of the bathrooms, to Ella's great amazement and envy. Just eighteen, and an aspiring actress, Dora's youth seemed to glow in a halo around her. Unfortunately, so did her immaturity. 

"Dora, what does Sam's taste in clothing have to do with any of this?" asked Ella patiently.

"Nothing, it's just – _oh_! He makes me so furious! Acting so indignant that I go out dancing every so often – I always go with a respectable gentleman – there's nothing wrong with that!" she cried.

"No, of course not sweetie," soothed Ella, in the same calming tones she used on both actresses nearing hysteria and stray dogs. "But Sam is very quiet, and very shy, and probably doesn't have the nerve to go out dancing with his girlfriends. I'm sure he's envious of all the fun you have, but he shows it by being critical of you." _To say nothing of the fact that underneath that quiet exterior he's probably burning with jealousy over the seemingly endless parade of men you step out with._

"Well, I guess there's some truth in that," admitted Dora, her ruffled feathers smoothing out somewhat. "What time are we due at the Museum?"

"Ten o' clock – _eeep_ – we'd better get this show on the road. Have you seen Walter this morning?"

"Ummm, no," said Dora, wiping her mouth daintily and setting down her linen napkin on the hotel table.

"Suppose it's just as well - he can keep an eye on Saint-John..." muttered Ella. "Alright Dora, I'm sure I'll be able to stave off your crowds of admirers on my own." _Hmph. I'm not even sure whether I'm joking or not. "_Shall we be off?"

***

Jonathan, unsurprisingly, was in the throes of a hangover, it being almost ten o'clock on a Thursday morning. Surprisingly, however, he was neither asleep, nor in his rooms at the O'Connell house, but loitering in the main hall of the Museum. His sister had been cruel and unrelenting that morning, all but dragging him out of the house. At that point, he'd been too much in shock to feel very ill, but at the moment, he was seriously considering a bit of the hair of the dog to get him through the morning. Shafts of sunlight streamed in through high-up windows, illuminating copious amounts of floating dust. _Bright. Too bright._ He looked away, to see the main doors opening, and a pair of women entering into the wide hall, footsteps echoing on the marble floors. 

_The little blonde one is gorgeous_, he thought with amusement, _but of that horrid naive variety. Well-dressed, smiling, relative lack of dust, she's definitely not an archaeologist. _

He strolled towards them, glad he'd worn a presentable coat that day, though he was forced to admit that his trousers had seen better days. The blonde looked his way, her companion still gazing up at the light coming in from above. 

"Good morning, ladies," Jonathan began, with what he hoped was his most roguish grin. "You look rather lost." 

The blonde's companion turned to look at him with a pair of disconcertingly direct eyes. Jonathan swallowed somewhat hastily. Her dark hair was cut modishly short, and she looked to be only slightly younger than himself. Oddly, he found himself unable to make any other judgements based on her appearance, which was unusual to say the least. His subconscious kept trying to apply labels, none of which quite seemed to fit. 

"Hello," the brunette smiled, a corporate type of smile, and Jonathan was amazed to discover that he was breathing again. "We were actually looking for Dr. Evelyn O'Connell, I don't know if..." The woman was making broad waving gestures with her hands, Jonathan noted. They were very nice hands. 

"Don't suppose you're here with the director, Joseph Toland?" The brunette's eyebrows arched in surprise. _Ah ha! I'm right!_ thought Jonathan proudly. "Actually, I'm Evie's brother, Jonathan Carnahan. I sit on the financial board of the Museum, and I'll be supervising the production while it's in the Museum." 

"Ah yes, I'm Ella Toland, sister of." The brunette introduced herself. "And this is Miss Dora Miller, our production assistant." The blonde – Miss Miller, he corrected himself - smiled flirtatiously at him. They each shook Jonathan's proffered hand, more firmly than he had expected. "I'm afraid there's been a bit of a change of plans – my brother has already started on his next project, so he's sent me to pick up all the location footage he needs."

Now it was Jonathan's turn to raise his eyebrows. "You're the director?"

"Yes, well, I realise it's a bit unorthodox, but I've been doing pick-up work on most of the films Joseph has directed in the last 8 years. I can assure you that we know what we're doing." The intelligent eyes gleamed up at Jonathan. She'd clearly made this speech before. But was that a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth? No, of course not. At any rate, it was none of his concern. 

"I'm certain that you do," he replied smoothly, his eyes flicking back occasionally to note the reactions on Miss Toland's face. "And I'm sure you'd like to meet my sister Evie before I give you more of a tour of the old place. Shall we?" And with a flourish, he guided them across the hall and up one of the large flights of stairs, his hangover for the time being forgotten in a puzzling rush of adrenaline. 

***

A/N – Wheeee, another chapter done. Liselle is on Easter break and is running out of procrastinative devices for her lit papers. _Must invent more..._ let's write some fanfiction! I may as well post this now... though I may be writing more this afternoon.

Thanks for the feedback so far...

Jennifer Lee – yeah, they probably didn't call them second units, but in the old studio system it was pretty common for directors to take a small crew to get cut-aways and outdoor shots needed for editing. They'd get into the editing room and be like – omigod, we need more footage! Shooting on location is actually the more unrealistic aspect of the story, as that didn't really become common until way way later, but I tried to mention that... um... yeah, it's just fiction ;)

Ellbee – I _love_ your writing! Thanks for the encouragement. I'm a sloooow writer, but I'll try to churn some more out while I've got the time off classes :)


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